


Guess Who's Back (and who's loosing his shit over it)

by shturman



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I will, M/M, all the tears are from happiness, but then there's some soft berlermo, if the show won't let Martin have good things in his life, so it should make up for that, there's some sad herlermo in the 2nd chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shturman/pseuds/shturman
Summary: *gasp* Berlin's alive?Yeah.But nobody knows that.He decides to show up in the Bank of Spain in the critical moment of the operation, when everything goes to shit and the gang needs saving.  One certain Palermo is going to have quite a reaction. We don't go into the specifics of the robbery, don't worry, we're here for The Feels.or: Palermo got the love of his life back and is crying.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 20
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey! The fuck are you doing? Get on the floor!” yelled Denver, walking down the lobby stairs with blindfolded Palermo on his arm.

“What’s happening?” growled Palermo.

“There’s some asshole standing in front of the hostages, with a mask on. And with a fucking cane. Does any of the hostages even have a cane? Hey!” Denver quickly walked both of them down the rest of the stairs and left Palermo at the bottom of it. “You really wanna get into deeper shit? Don’t you fucking know what’s happening?” Denver drew his gun on the man. 

The man laughed, softly, fondly, his head slightly thrown back. 

“Oh Denver, my boy, I’m here to get you out of the said shit.”

The young man froze in his tracks and slowly lowered the gun. He clearly recognized the low, rasping voice. There was only one person this cool, arrogant and amused tone could belong to. The other man didn’t leave him wondering for much longer and took off his red hood and then his Dalí mask. 

“Berlin!” gasped Denver.

“What?” said Palermo without skipping a bit.

“It’s fucking Berlin! You bastard!” Denver was no longer paying attention to Palermo, he stormed towards Berlin who kept laughing at the curses, all teeth and shiny eyes. The force of Denver’s hug made him stagger back a little, leaning on his cane.

“You son of a bitch, let me look at your murdered ass!” Denver took the other man’s face in his hands. 

Belin looked the way he remembered him – neatly styled hair, a clean shave, the shit-eating grin was as shit-eating as ever. Maybe he was a bit paler than usual but not enough to make Denver worry, and certainly, Denver did not notice that behind those dark laughing eyes there was something somber and heavy. 

“You have so much explanation to do!” 

But Berlin wasn’t looking at Denver anymore. He turned his head towards the man standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

The blindfold was off now, Palermo threw it on the floor. He was trying to open his bloodshot eyes, flinching at the pain, panting heavily, clutching the banister with one hand. 

“Hey everyone!” shouted Denver into resonating space, “Come to the lobby! Now! Nairobi, Tokyo, Helsinki, fuck, all of you! Now!” 

Then he got a cane shoved in his hands. 

“Hey, what’s—”

Berlin just patted him on the shoulder and walked away, towards Palermo. 

He was walking slowly, with an obvious effort, but his back was straight, the seemingly confident smile ever present on his face, even though now the concerned frown of his brow was betraying him. When he approached Palermo, he could feel his heavy breath on his chin. The man in front of him could’ve as well been having a heart attack, his chest was rising and falling erratically, his mouth was slightly open, lips shiny, a white-knuckled grasp on the banister. He was struggling to open his injured eyes. When he managed to open them for a couple of seconds, Berlin saw how red they were and he knew that Palermo wasn’t able to make him out. 

It was obvious that every second Berlin stayed silent brought Palermo closer to a breaking point. So finally, he spoke, softly, as if not to disturb the warm, feverish air between the two of them.

“Hello, my engineer.”

A small sound escaped Palermo's lips, and when he opened his eyes again, two large tears finally rolled down his scratched cheeks.

Berlin wiped them off with his thumbs and let his hands rest on his face glistening with more and more tears.

"I can't see you," whispered Palermo and lifted his own hands up.

"It's alright, my dear," said Berlin and let him explore his face.

One hand landed on his neck, the fingers of the other went further up to touch the smooth cheek, the forehead with the fine lines that Palermo rather remembered than felt, the eyebrows that trembled slightly under his touch, the bride of the nose with a genteel bump, the soft cheek once again, the firm jaw, the chin, and the lips. Palermo traced his bottom lip with his index and middle fingers, then the top one and felt Berlin's lips stretch into a smile.

"Andrés," Palermo didn't seem to notice that the tears were streaming down his face steadily and forcefully now, biting into the open wounds on his face, soaking the collar of his jumpsuit and his t-shirt. He grabbed Berlin's face with both hands desperately, breathing in the familiar smell of his cologne and his skin. He physically couldn't let any other words out of his tightened throat, though the racing of his thoughts and feelings was reflecting fully on his face.

He felt Berlin's hands leave his cheeks and lend on his wrists, the thumbs stroking his skin gently.

"Yes, I'm here, my friend."

They heard some rushing and stomping of boots and then a high pitched, "What the f--"

"Wait, Tokyo, shut up," Nairobi’s uncertain voice.

The gang stood on the stairs silently, watching the two men clinging to each other completely detached from the outside world. Nairobi placed a comforting hand on Helsinki's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, my dear," said Berlin almost inaudibly leaning closer to Palermo and placing light kisses on his bloody trembling eyelids. "Shhh, it's okay. I'll get you out of here. It's all going to be okay." He pulled Palermo into a hug, holding him close against his chest, despite the pain in his entire body.

"It can't be," mumbled Palermo against his shoulder. "You died, you're dead, and I'm dead. I mourned you, I buried you, it can't be, it can't," he was sobbing, digging his fingers into Berlin's back, grabbing and stroking his hair. "I don't care, I don't care, just stay, don't go. Just stay. You won’t leave without me this time. You won’t, not again, you fucking bastard, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you--”  
“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m not leaving, Palermo.” Berlin let him go, but Palermo was still tugging on his upper arms. “I’ve just arrived.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wee bit of Helermo in the beginning (poor Helsi trying to patch up the man he loves in the same room that the real object of his love's affection is) and then some soft ass Berlermo (the k*ssing y'all. there's going to be some k*ssing)

"That's risky as hell but we gotta do it," said Nairobi.

The team nodded in approval, never taking their eyes off Berlin sitting at the head of the table. The man, being one of the original masterminds of the plan, has just introduced a new scenario of the escape. All the variables were the same, the approach was different. The team will have to put all their force into the most inconspicuous, practically useless part of the building, and do so without making a sound and without losing a grain of gold. It was a huge leap of faith. If it wasn't for The Professor's approval, the idea that Berlin has explained so thoroughly and confidently, would've seemed like a story of a madman. However, The Professor's hung up the phone just moments ago, and Palermo has confirmed every little fact that Berlin had presented to the team.

"It'll work," said Palermo calmly. "But we have to start right away. Everyone knows what to do?"

The team nodded.

"I can't fucking see you, say "aye" or something!"

"Aye!"

"Good, off you go then. Helsinki, we have to do something about my eyes. Be a darling and take a look at them for me."

Everyone, except for Helsinki and Berlin, rushed away, and even though there was more air now, the room felt infinitely heavier.

Palermo leaned back in his chair, facing the windows. Even with his eyes closed, he could find a source of light piercing gently through his eyelids. Helsinki bent down to take a look at Palermo's injuries.

"The cuts on your face are okay, l will put some antiseptic, wait." Helsinki went away for a moment to grab an aid kit.

"I don't give a shit about my face, Helsinki," growled Palermo, "I only need my eyes."

Berlin was studying the both of them with an amused lopsided smile.

"Well, I need your face, Palermo," muttered Helsinki, pouring some antiseptic on a piece of cloth.

Palermo scoffed at that and turned his head slightly towards Berlin. Of course he couldn't see how Berlin's face changed at the Serb's remark. The man kept smiling, of course, but his eyes narrowed and grew brighter as they usually did when he was witnessing an intimate drama of human emotion, not actually meant for his eyes.

Palermo didn't even flinch when the wet cloth touched his cuts.

“How’s the pain?” asked Helsinki, gently patting the other man's face with the cloth.

“Fine.”

"Can you open your eyes?" 

"Yeah, I think so, hold on."

He opened his eyes for a couple of seconds, biting on his twitching lips.

"You see light?"

"Yeah."

"You make out forms, silhouettes?"

"Shit," he closed his eyes again. "The eyelids."

"Yes, I see, I will put something on them."

Palermo let out a frustrated groan while Helsinki was going through the aid kit. Then he felt something cold and smooth on his eyelids, both upper and lower, like some kind of gel or balsam. It eased the irritation enough for him to open his eyes again.

"It's better," he said.

Helsinki closed Palermo's left eye with his hand.

"How is this one?"

"Bearable. Fine. I see you." He half-consciously tried to turn his face towards Berlin once again, but Helsinki didn't let him, closing his right eye.

"This one?"

Palermo didn't answer but only frowned, more annoyed then upset at the fact that he was almost blind.

"Nothing?" Helsinki asked worriedly.

"Very blurry, but the right one is good enough.”

Helsinki put his hand on Palermo's cheek and used his thumb to tug on the lower eyelid of his left eye.

"Alright, okay." He took Palermo's hand. "Here, the stuff for your eyelids. Here, the drops -- the vitamins." He placed the items in Palermo’s hand and held it for a moment. "It will get better. Let your eyes rest for a little bit."

"No rest for the wicked."

"I'm serious, Palermo."

"Alright. Go on now. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” grumped Helsinki, straightening up, and took the last long sad look at Palermo who was avoiding his gaze. On his way out of the office, he glanced at Berlin. His kind, sorrowful blue eyes meeting the dark, piercing ones. 

When the door closed behind him, Palermo let out a long heavy sigh. He turned to face Berlin who was smiling softly at him. Palermo cursed under his breath.

“Come closer,” he said.

Berlin clenched his jaw and stood up slowly, leaning on his cane. He walked over to Palermo and took a sit next to him.

“Here, let me,” Berlin took a tiny plastic bottle of eye drops from Palermo’s hand. “Tilt your head for me.”

Palermo breathed in shakenly when Berlin placed his hand on the back of his neck to steady his head. He was looking at the impeccably white ceiling above him, struggling to fight the tightening feeling in his throat. One stinging drop landed in the inner corner of his left eye, he winced and blinked rapidly. Then another drop in his right eye. 

“There you go,” said Berlin softly, like a loving mother, and stroked the short hair on the back of his friend’s head. 

Palermo focused his eyes on Berlin and then let out a short gut-wrenching laugh. He could see him. Everything was still blurry but he could make out the familiar features just fine. The details that he couldn’t make out came back to him from his memory. He saw his eyes, he didn’t see the laugh lines around them but he knew they were there; he saw his nose, he didn’t see the thin scar under it but he knew it was there; he saw his neck, he didn’t see the vein that he used to admire so often but he knew it was there. It was him, it really was his Andrés. His handsome, breathtaking Andrés. 

He took his chin in his hand to bring his face closer and then smacked his cheek softly.

“Better, huh?” asked Berlin, amused by the affection.

“I cried all the trash out, didn’t I?” sniffled Palermo trying to keep a happy smile on his face.

Berlin laughed fondly at that. Palermo could’ve burst into tears just from the sound alone, but he’s got himself together. As much as he could anyway. 

He was looking at Berlin for a long minute. The man in front of him was leaning on the table with his elbows, slouching a little. Slouching, that was something Andrés de Fonollosa didn’t do. His right hand was holding tightly onto his left wrist. He was frowning despite the smile on his lips, his dark brown eyes looked sad. Palermo could see that even with his damaged eyes. When it came to Berlin, he knew exactly where to look. 

“You look pale, sweetheart.”

Berlin smiled at the pet name and leaned back in his chair, waving his hand at himself from head to toe.  
“I’m a dying man, my darling. Or did you forget?”

Palermo’s laughter that followed his words could break a heart.

“This is magnificent, honey. Everything about this is just absolutely terrific! Seriously, you made it. You are officially the most insufferable man in the entire world! Dying, dying and dying again! Who else could have pulled that off!”

“Why thank you, Martín, my dear.”

His own name on his lips made Palermo flinch. With some effort, he stopped his hysterical laughter and quickly wiped a tear from his cheek. 

“How long?”

“At this point I honestly have no idea. I was supposed to be dead years ago. It keeps progressing though, just slower than the doctors expected.” He forced another wide smile and looked at Palermo. “I can still control my limbs for the most part of the day. So there is a chance we’ll dance again, after all this is over.” 

Palermo was nibbling on his bottom lip like a hurt little boy that was being punished for no reason.

“We will, Andrés, I promise. You’re the best dance partner I’ve had,” he flirted jokingly.

Berlin stretched out his legs under the table so his muscles wouldn’t go numb, trying not to show his friend how painful the act was. He should’ve known better. Palermo saw right through him, like he always did.

“Andrés.” Berlin looked up at him. “I know I’m being selfish, and it’s neither the place nor the time, but…” He took Berlin’s stiff hands in his own softer and warmer ones. “I have to say it to you. To actually say the words, ‘cause I’ve always been a coward and kept it shut.” He saw Berlin’s lips stretch into a tender smile, his eyes were soft and understanding. “I love you, Andrés.”

Palermo squeezed his fingers tighter.

“I know, my dear,” said Berlin simply.

Palermo nodded and looked down at the hands he was holding. 

“Kiss me please? One more time?” He looked up at Berlin again with infinite sadness in his eyes. “One last time.”

Berlin moved closer to Palermo and took his friend's face in his hands, brushing his red ears with his thumbs. The last thing Palermo saw before closing his eyes was a glimpse of white teeth bared in a smile. And then he felt Berlin’s lips on his own. They were soft, warm, gentle. It was nothing like the hungry, desperate kiss Andrés allowed him to have all those years ago. Couple of seconds had passed and Berlin still didn’t break up the kiss, so Palermo wrapped his hands around his neck letting out the softest moan. He felt Berlin smile against his lips and then there was a warm wet tongue tracing his bottom lip. Palermo sighed and let Berlin’s tongue dance with his own in a tranquil rhythm. He breathed in Berlin’s smell and felt Berlin’s own breath on his face, he caressed the delicate skin of his neck and stroked his hair. He could live like this. He could die like this. 

When they’d finally parted, Palermo realized that he was crying. He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness and carelessly brushed the tears away, trying to make himself laugh. 

“Shhh, close your eyes, my dear boy,” Berlin said softly, covering Palermo’s hurt eyes with his palm. “Let them rest now. We’ve got some time.”

He moved in his chair and gently pulled Palermo’s head down to rest on his lap. Palermo hugged his leg with one hand.

“We’ve got some time,” said Berlin once again and closed his own tired eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, that's it. I hurt myself today to see if I still feel. Turns out I do. What about you?  
> Please let me know what you think and THANK YOU so much for reading!


End file.
